by Tim Green
The coop stood off the ground on stacks of cinder blocks. On the side was a door and beneath it a jumbled pile of blocks that years ago had served as stairs for the farmer’s wife to harvest her eggs. Danny raced up the steps and tried the door. It was jammed shut.
He grabbed the old wooden handle with both hands and pulled for all he was worth. The handle broke and he tumbled backward, but he sprang to his feet like after a tackle. This time he kicked the door. His foot went right through and a plume of smoke rushed out.
The fire was roaring above him, and he could feel the heat. He put both hands into the hole he’d kicked and yanked again. This time the door gave way. A great gust of smoke surrounded him, but it escaped skyward and he could see the puffy white shape of Mrs. McGillicuddy in the far corner of the coop in a nest of rags and dusty hay on the floor.
She was curled up and lay still. He presumed the smoke had done her in, but the rest of the kittens had to be beneath her. Danny turned his head, took a deep breath, held it, and leapt into the coop. When his foot hit, it went straight through the floor, scraping his leg. Pain rocketed through his brain, but that was the least of his problems.
He was stuck, and his breath was now gone. With the floor swallowing his leg up to the knee, he reached forward, grabbed the entire nest, and yanked it toward him.
With all his might and his last ounce of strength, he shoved the nest, Mrs. McGillicuddy and all, out the chicken door hole and onto the ramp.
His eyes and lungs burned like the roaring fire above. Only his tearing cough sounded above the crackle and howl of flames. The smoke billowed above him, pressing down like a great blanket.
Danny lay flat on his stomach, closed his eyes, and felt himself drifting away.
Danny’s father stood with his arms hanging by his sides. When Danny ran to him, his father wrapped him in those beefy limbs and squeezed him until it nearly hurt.
“Let me look at you, Danny.” His father held him at arm’s length, looking him over. “You look good, Danny. You look strong.”
“Dad, I miss you so bad.”
“Oh, Danny, I miss you too, but I’m here. I’m right here with you. Always.” His father put an arm around him and they began walking back from the way Danny had come. “And one day, we’ll be together forever.”
Danny stopped, frozen with fear, and looked up at his dad. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I’m here for you. I’m part of you. You’ll hear me, but you won’t see me like this. Not for a while. You’ve got a lot to do, you know. A whole life.”
“Dad, no!” Danny grabbed his father and held him tight. “I’m not leaving you. I won’t go.”
“Danny, Danny, Danny. We don’t choose. You’re gonna be fine. I told you, I’m with you, and we will be together. I promise.”
Danny didn’t know what to say.
His father turned him around and let him go.
“Danny?”
Danny’s eyes fluttered open and he saw his mom. There were tubes in his nose. His throat was chilled and dry and sore. He opened his mouth to speak.
“I saw Dad.” His voice was a raspy croak.
“Oh, honey.” His mom’s eyes brimmed with tears. She laid her hand along his cheek. “You’re here now. You’re gonna be okay.”
Danny looked around at the hospital room. “Who? Who got me?”
“Mr. Crenshaw.” His mom bit her lip, fighting her tears, before she said, “Oh, Danny, why? Why would you do that, honey?”
“Do?” Danny looked at her as the pieces fell together in his mind, him yelling at Ms. Rait, his hint of a threat, lashing out at Mrs. McGillicuddy. It scared him silly. He shook his head. “No. No, Mom. It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it. Someone else did, as a prank. I went to try and stop it, but I was too late, and I tried to save Mrs. McGillicuddy and her kittens. Mom, don’t look at me like that. You’ve got to believe me!”
She looked at the window. Their reflections were painted in ghostly images against the darkness beyond. She sighed and shook her head. “Then who? Who did it, Danny? If it wasn’t you, you’re gonna have to tell them who.”
“Them?”
“The police.” His mom nodded toward the door. “They’re waiting outside.”
When Danny got onto the bus Monday morning, no one cheered. Everyone went quiet and cast their eyes down, only taking secret glances his way when they thought he wasn’t looking. He sat down in his usual seat halfway back. The door clattered shut and the driver revved her engine in a cloud of diesel left behind for the trees and fields to absorb.
Janey got on next. She sat right down beside him, loyal to the end. “Hey.”
Danny sighed. “Hey.”
Janey patted his shoulder but said nothing. They’d been through it all yesterday. She’d begged him to tell, or, at a minimum, to let her tell. Danny was having none of it.
“I can’t rat out a teammate,” he’d told her. “I didn’t do it. If that’s not enough for them, then fine. I’ll never tell. And you doing it would be just like me doing it.”
Janey had stood in the middle of his room and pulled at her ponytail. “They should be thanking you, Danny. You saved Mrs. McGillicuddy and those kittens. You can’t miss the big game. It’s just not fair. You’ve been dreaming about this. Look at everything you’ve gone through.”
“I may miss the big game this year, but if I’m a rat, my football career is over in Jericho anyway. It’s a team sport, Janey.”
Her reply, which he couldn’t argue with even now, had been, “If Bug was a real team player, he wouldn’t let you be punished for something we know he did.”
“I can’t control Bug,” he’d replied, “just me.”
He wasn’t surprised in the least to see Mr. Trufant waiting for him just inside the entrance to the school. They made eye contact and Danny followed him without being told. At the conference table in Mr. Trufant’s office, Coach Kinen waited along with Mr. Crenshaw and, at the head of the table, Ms. Rait.
Danny sat down, folded his hands, and looked at his knuckles.
Suddenly, the door flew open and his mom rushed in and sat beside him. “I’m sorry. I had a job interview at seven thirty that I couldn’t change.” Danny knew that was a code for the AA meetings she’d been going to.
Mr. Trufant adjusted the tight blue knot of his tie, then cleared his throat. “That’s fine, Mrs. Owens. We just sat down, and I’m sorry we have to meet again like this, but we need to chart a path forward here.”
“Innocent until proven guilty,” Coach Kinen barked before smacking his palm on the table. “I can’t see how there’s anything to discuss. Danny can’t take her test under the circumstances, and we certainly can’t prevent him from playing next Saturday.”
Ms. Rait huffed and shook her head before muttering, “Unbelievable.”
“Believe it, lady.” Coach Kinen glared at the teacher.
“Let’s not do this, Dave.” Mr. Trufant looked scary with his bald head, steel glasses, and wrinkled brow, and he obviously wasn’t afraid of Coach Kinen. “You need to let me do my job.”
Coach Kinen bit his lip and nodded.
“Good,” said Mr. Trufant before turning to Ms. Rait. “Martha, I will not go around you here. What happened is horrible. No one should have to go through that. It was criminal, and I’m sure the police will sort it out.”
“Sort it out?” Ms. Rait scoffed. “He threatened me. He was there.”
Danny’s mom sprang up from her seat and pointed a finger at the teacher. “If Danny says he didn’t do it, he didn’t do it! And he saved your cats!”
“Then who did?” Ms. Rait asked. “You can’t say he doesn’t know. Why would he be there? Yes, he saved the cats, after he, or someone he knows, lit a fire to destroy my property and kill my pets! Do you know those tar shingles flew hundreds of feet? They burned two acres of my neighbors’ corn. What if the wind was different? My house could have burned down! If I was in bed . . .”
She brandished her crutch. “Wi
thout this? I could have been killed, so don’t you tell me how he saved my cats!”
“Ladies, please.” Mr. Trufant held up both hands. “We are trying to work this out in the best interests of everyone here.”
“That means I roll over and keep my mouth shut.” Ms. Rait was steaming. “That’s what that means.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Martha. You’re quite wrong.” Mr. Trufant frowned at her. “If Danny turns out to be the perpetrator, he will be punished to the fullest extent of the law and within the parameters of this school district.”
“Good.” Ms. Rait folded her arms and sat back.
“However—”
Ms. Rait clucked her tongue and rolled her eyes. “Oh, however.”
“Yes. However.” Mr. Trufant spoke calmly and quietly, and it somehow made his words more powerful. “It is a fundamental right in our country that people are presumed innocent. I do not want to punish someone who not only may have done nothing wrong, but who may have done something very right. So, I am recommending that we suspend Danny from your class and that we allow him to play this Saturday, unless he is found to be guilty before that. But—let me finish—I will not implement this plan unless you agree.”
“Unless I agree?” Ms. Rait pointed to herself.
“Yes.” Mr. Trufant nodded. “If you don’t agree, we’ll have to come up with an alternative.”
The room went quiet.
Outside, Danny could hear the rumble and muted chatter of his classmates getting ready for the day.
Finally, Ms. Rait spoke. “Okay, I’ll tell you what I will agree to . . .”
“Everything stays the same.” Ms. Rait looked around the table. “It is true that we should presume innocence. So, we’ll carry on like this never happened.”
Danny smiled at his mom. She gave him a one-armed hug.
“Nice,” said Coach Kinen.
“Danny will take my test in third period like everyone else. If he passes, he plays. If not . . . well, they’re your rules, Mr. Trufant.”
“Wait. What?” Coach Kinen was out of his seat. “You can’t be impartial grading his test. We know you think he did it.”
“It’s a multiple-choice test, Coach Kinen.” Ms. Rait had a blank face. “There’s no subjectivity to it at all.”
Danny sat, stunned. He hadn’t seen this coming. She knew he probably couldn’t pass. He felt like she’d tricked them all.
It was Monday, so when Danny reported to the library for study hall, they sent him to Mr. Crenshaw’s office.
Danny dreaded it, but he was in no position to skip a session or do anything else outside the lines. He knocked, then entered.
Mr. C looked up from his computer and stopped typing. “Hi, Danny.”
Danny stopped just inside the door. “I can go back to the library if you don’t want me. They said you just have to write me a pass.”
Mr. C frowned. “Why would I not want you?”
“Seriously?” Danny searched his face.
Mr. C shrugged. “This weekend has nothing to do with what we do here. I thought you’d know that by now.”
Danny narrowed his eyes. “I guess.”
Mr. C pointed at the couch. “Sit. Make yourself comfortable. Do you want to talk?”
Danny slowly crossed the floor and sat, keeping his eyes on Mr. C all the while. “I don’t know. Do you?”
“Sure. We can talk, or you can study.”
Danny didn’t care if he sounded bitter. “It’s too late for that.”
“Really? I heard you were so close.”
“From who? Ms. Rait?” Danny wrinkled his face.
“Yes. She has confidence in you.” Mr. C pointed a pen at him.
“That makes no sense. She told me it didn’t look good.”
“She’s challenging you, Danny, like a coach. She asked me how I thought she should approach you with all this and I told her back in the beginning that you’d respond best if she approached it like a coach. You’re used to that. You’ve responded well to that all your life.” Mr. C held up both hands like it was a simple fact.
Danny didn’t know what to say.
“I told her she’d have to be careful to mix in praise and encouragement, too. I hope she did that. Did she?” Mr. C asked.
Danny had to nod because she had done that. It was he who’d focused on the negative and allowed it to overshadow her kindnesses and encouragement. He looked up and blinked. “So she wants me to pass?”
Mr. Crenshaw wore a sad smile. “So very much.”
“And she thinks I can?”
“No, Danny.” Mr. C shook his head. “She thinks you will.”
ONE WEEK LATER . . .
The air had that late-fall bite, but the sun shining down between the big-bellied gray clouds made it the perfect day for football.
Danny looked through his facemask across the field at Dillon Junior High’s green jerseys. Their defensive line was enormous.
“What you looking at?” Cupcake bumped up against Danny’s shoulder pads.
“They’re pretty huge,” Danny said.
“Biggest junior high D-line in Texas, they say.” Cupcake spit on the turf. “Can’t say we won’t miss Bug.”
“Yeah.” Danny waited to see what else his friend had to say.
“Makes you kinda proud, though, him owning up like he did. No one told him he had to, either.”
“Yeah. I’m glad he did.”
Cupcake waved a big, taped-up paw high and wide. “Everyone knew it wasn’t you.”
“Ms. Rait didn’t,” Danny said.
“I guess she turned out okay. Didn’t she?” Cupcake said. “That letter she wrote. No one could believe it. I mean, she won’t press charges if he gets counseling. Go figure.”
“We don’t know what the police will do,” Danny said. “It’s nice of her to try, though.”
“Yeah, and she passed you, too. If she hadn’t done that, we’d be in real hot water right now.”
“Hey. I passed that test, not her. A solid seventy-two.”
“Well . . . give us an A-plus today and we just might win this thing.” Cupcake bumped Danny’s fist and jogged off toward the end zone where the linemen were gathering.
Danny watched him go, then looked up and scanned the press box. Sitting in a neat row were the Jericho varsity coaches, the men who’d either make his dream come true or shatter it. Ms. Rait would argue it was Danny who’d make or break the dream, and he nodded to himself that that was true.
He had to play out of his mind today. It wasn’t about Coach Oglethorpe—with his bucket hat and the black mustache and goatee beneath those heavy dark sunglasses—or his nine assistants. It was about Daniel Owens playing with the heart and skill of another Daniel Owens, some thirty years ago, on this same field. He knew this afternoon that’s exactly what was going to happen.
From the press box, his eyes traveled into the stands where his mom sat with Janey, Ms. Rait, and Mr. Crenshaw. He waved, and his mom waved back. He knew her eyes never left him, and that made him think about his father.
Danny still didn’t know if he’d just dreamed about seeing his dad or if he’d actually died and come back. Either way, his father’s words stayed with him, and he knew they would for the rest of his life.
I’m here. I’m right here with you. Always.
Author’s Note
In my own middle grade years growing up, the world was quite different. Kids with special needs were separated from the rest of us, and anyone in need of mental health counseling was secretly labeled “crazy” and avoided like a mortal disease.
Fortunately, thankfully, things have gotten much better, although we still have work to do. While this is a football story full of touchdowns and tackles, grand victories and crushing defeats, it is also very much a story about mental health and how, with treatment and time, people can—and many times do—get better. To make the interactions and the outcomes with Mr. Crenshaw accurate, I relied on my oldest son, Thane, who is a
licensed family therapist with a master’s degree in mental health counseling for adolescents and kids. And, as Mr. Crenshaw does with Danny (and hopefully Bug), my son Thane often helps kids get better and alter the paths of their lives.
It is the job for the rest of us to understand that mental health is a serious problem that can affect any one of us or our family members and to be kind and compassionate toward those who need help. Finally, I want to mention that for accuracy, I worked closely with Connie Bohrer, a wonderful teacher and reading specialist, on the details of Danny’s reading impairment and the process and timing of bringing him up to speed in just eight weeks.
Thank you to Thane and Connie and also my editor, Karen Chaplin, for her careful scrutiny and advice on both these important issues!
And if you need help, or know of someone who does, please contact the National Suicide Hotline at 1-800-SUICIDE (1-800-784-2433) or the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (1-800-273-8255).
About the Author
Photo credit Laure Lillie
TIM GREEN is a Syracuse University alumnus. He graduated magna cum laude, Phi Beta Kappa, and covaledictorian with a degree in English. After being selected in the first round of the 1986 NFL draft, Tim continued his excellence both on and off the field. He is a practicing lawyer, a New York Times bestselling author in two different genres, a TV personality, and a coach.
Tim calls reading “weightlifting for your brain,” an essential habit that increases school success and builds character. Since Tim began writing for kids in 2007, his books have sold more than a million copies and Tim has made more than nine hundred school visits and spoken to nearly a half million kids across the United States. Tim delivers a powerful message about the importance of education, reading books, and good character. Even though his own childhood dream was to become an NFL player, he had another dream equally as powerful: to become a writer. He now urges kids to put school before sports and to think about success in terms of personal relationships and kindness rather than fortune and fame. Tim uses all his speaking fees to buy copies of his books for kids, libraries, and schools who couldn’t otherwise afford them.
